An Eternity Alone
by Blonds Will Rule the World
Summary: Saphira banishes her Rider to a far off alcove in order to protect him from the twisted ways of Galbatorix. Eragon lives there for twenty years, until he is approached by the only one who can hope to defeat Alagaësia's oppressor: the next Rider. {Title is subject to change.}
1. Chapter 1

_ Eragon stood facing the black king of Alagaësia in his great hall. The king smiled, a dark twisted expression that did not resemble a smile so much as a spasm of his face. Eragon tried once again to loosen the invisible bonds that encased him, but he could not move even an inch. Even his mouth was frozen, so that any chance that he may have had of releasing himself through the ancient language was lost. Eragon was at a loss. He and his beloved partner of heart and mind, Saphira, had come so far, had exceeded the expectations of all the beings, had pushed himself to the limit on many occasions, and had even explored the boundaries of the world as had previously been discovered. And yet it was all for naught. He had striven so hard to get here, to Urû'baen, to defeat the fallen Rider who was now standing before him with an evil grin on his face, and he was going to fail. He could see it in the king's eyes. Eragon was going to be broken by the king, until he lost all free will and would do whatever the king asked without question. He closed his eyes and stretched his consciousness toward Saphira. They exchanged no words; they allowed themselves to simply _be _together with their minds and souls enveloping one another. They knew that these were their last moments as the last free Dragon and Rider in Alagaësia. _

_ Then, Eragon felt a surge of defiance rise up from Saphira. Though they had been forced into silence by one of the king's spells, Saphira let out an earth-trembling roar, the likes of which Eragon had never heard before. It was neither sorrowful nor triumphant, but contained Saphira's entire being - her emotions, her personality, and her strength - all emitted through the noise that echoed through Urû'baen. Above all, her love for Eragon could be heard in the roar, and the sheer force of it overwhelmed all those who heard it, perhaps excluding the king and his monstrous black slave. Eragon looked at his dragon with tears in his eyes and expressed his love for her through the bond of their minds. Saphira did not respond, for she was not yet done fighting the oppressive rule of the king with the black soul. She thrust her consciousness towards Eragon and enveloped him with such energy and strength that he nearly passed out. He sensed her intentions a moment before her magic took hold, and his heart cried out for her to stop. However, now that the process had begun, neither she nor anyone else could halter it. Both Eragon and Saphira felt a stabbing, overwhelming, indescribable agony at what Saphira was about to do. _

_ Saphira blinked her large sapphire eye slowly at Eragon. _

Goodbye, little one. _she said mournfully._

_ Then the magic took hold and Eragon's world fell away._

Eragon woke from his waking dreams with a start. He was trembling violently from the dream. Blood from scratches on his face mingled with the tears streaming out of his eyes. Eragon healed them in an instant, more out of habit than anything else. His mind was fully occupied with other things. Even after many years, so many that he had stopped counting, Eragon missed Saphira. Every time he immersed himself in his waking dreams, he dreamed of her and their last few moments together. Sometimes he would also dream of what had happened to her after she had banished his to his little nook in the forest. Those dreams were often even more painful than that of their parting. Sometimes he imagined that the thrice-cursed king had even gone so far as to kill her, but he knew it was not so. For one thing, his bond with her would have informed him, despite her distance from him and their complete lack of and communication whatsoever over almost two decades. For another, he hadn't aged a day since they parted; Eragon assumed this was because her magic and the immortality it granted him was still very much alive and connected to him. Also, he knew the king simply wouldn't kill her, at the very least until she mated. Saphira was the only female dragon left in existence, and the king himself had said that he didn't intend to let the dragon breed die out.

So Eragon knew Saphira was alive at least. But past that, he had no idea. He didn't even know if he would be able to recognize her as Saphira after she spent two decades with the king and his twisted ways. The thought that Saphira might not be Saphira anymore tortured Eragon, but that thought was nothing compared to the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to rescue her. Over the past twenty years, Eragon had been consumed with finding his way out of the seemingly infinite forest in which he had been forced to reside. He had walked for days on end trying to find the end of the forest, only to find himself in the same place he had woken up all those years ago. He had tried climbing trees to see what lay beyond the forest, but it seemed to be a never-ending ocean of spiky green tree tops. He had tried casting countless navigational spells, with infinite alternate wordings, but all failed him, no matter how much energy he poured into them or how much he changed the wordings, the result would always be the same - inconclusive.

Eragon often considered simply killing himself to end the agony that traumatized him and drove him to the brink of madness. But, as often and as seriously as he thought about it, he could never bring himself to do it. He still lived with the hope, no matter how dim that hope may be, that he and Saphira would someday be reunited, that she would come rescue him from his green prison of solitude and isolation. Also, he reasoned, she had sacrificed much to send him here, and to end his life would be a poor way to repay her. Besides that, Eragon had not given up his will to live. Even though he had endured enough misery and pain to last him three lifetimes, Eragon _wanted _to live. He had experienced and witnessed too much death to give his life away so readily and willingly. Life was a precious thing, he knew, and pain only made him know that he was still alive. If he had been unable to feel anything, he didn't think he would be able to see the point in living. Without pain, there could be no happiness, for only when one experiences pain can he know what happiness truly feels like.

Eragon shook himself out of his thoughts and went outside his small wooden huts. He began to perform the Rimgar, the series of stretches taught to him by Oromis. Before long, Eragon's thoughts trailed back to Saphira and ways to escape his leafy prison. However, Eragon soon caught himself and forced himself to concentrate on what he was doing. He thought of nothing but the physical exertion through which he was putting himself: he felt his muscles burn and stretch, felt sweat drip down his back, felt his mind clear as he thought of nothing but nothing.

When he was done with his stretches, Eragon bathed and dressed. Besides the misery of being separated from his soul companion, Eragon hated the monotony of his life in the forest prison. Before he had been banished to that place, it seemed he was fighting battles and engaging in history-changing events every other day. Though it had been hard work, Eragon would have preferred that life to one of routine any day. But now he was subject to just that. He woke up every morning, healed the cuts on his face that he had caused during the night, performed the Rimgar, bathed, and decided what to do with the rest of his day. More often than not, he would commit himself to scholarly activities during the day, such as writing down every word in the ancient language that he could remember, so that as the years crawled by, he would not forget any of his most valuable knowledge. It was tedious work, but Eragon was glad to be doing it, for when he was not busy working on something, his mind would stray to things he preferred not to think about.

Today, Eragon decided to take a long walk in the surrounding woods. He packed a small, homemade pack with enough supplies to last him a night or two out in the woods. He remembered a time when he could just curl up against Saphira when he was out in the woods, but now he had to pack his sleeping roll. Eragon winced and forced his mind onto other topics. He concentrated solely on packing, which, unfortunately for him, was not an activity that required mass amounts of concentration.

Eragon quickly finished packing and set out, letting his feet pick the route. As he walked, he explored the lives of the animals who shared his woods. He immersed himself in their lives so he would not have to ponder his own. It was a very effective method for taking his mind off things. Each time he focused on a specific animal, its hopes became his, its struggles were shared, and he became a part of its battles, even lending a little energy here and there in order to help the creature along. But each time Eragon came back to himself, the memories and thoughts and desires and pains all came flooding back, and each time was just as hard as the last. He engaged himself in the life of another animal as quickly as he could.

When Eragon finally, reluctantly returned to himself for good, it was getting dark. Eragon looked around with mild interest. He was not surprised to discover that his legs were burning. After all, he had been walking the whole day as he melded his mind with animals'.

Eragon recited a quick incantation that would tell him the air pressure and humidity of the air surrounding him. Based upon the spell, he determined that it was most likely not going to rain that night, so he didn't bother casting spells or weaving a tarp to repel rain. After a quick, cold meal, Eragon rolled out his sleeping pad on the ground and stretched himself out on top of it. He hadn't realized how tired he actually was until he lay down, and was sleeping as soundly as a rock within moments. 

**A/N: Sorry for the extremely short prologue. I hope to get more up within a week. Please read and review! I would really like to know what I could do better. Please provide me with constructive criticism! Thanks! ~Blonds Will Rule the World **


	2. Chapter 2

Saphira whimpered, a rare and pitiful noise. Eragon ran toward her, but no matter how hard he strove, he couldn't seem to get any closer. He called her name desperately, but she did not seem to hear him. He thrust his mind towards hers, but her isolation had been so great for so long that she did not even seem to notice him. However, he did see what she saw and he felt her pain. He saw himself in Galbatorix's clutches. He saw himself being tortured, and he felt Saphira's hopelessness and misery, for in her mind there was nothing she could do to help him. Eragon knew from his connection with her that she believed whole-heartedly the vision that had been placed there. Eragon put his whole being into calling her, making her aware of his presence, but she could not respond, for she was completely absorbed into her vision. "Saphira! Saphira, please! I'm right here! I'm fine! SAPHIRA!" Eragon called as loud as he could, tears streaming down his face. But Saphira did not hear him. She keened and wailed at the top of her lungs, and no matter how hard Eragon strove, he could not disrupt her mourning howl. Eragon's heart cried out to her as he watched her for what seemed like hours, unable to do anything and yet still calling her name as loud as his voice would allow. Then, suddenly, her moans stopped and she looked at Eragon. Eragon's heart leaped. But his elation did not last long. There was something wrong with Saphira. As she turned to him, he noticed that her eyes were no longer bright and twinkling, but hard and cold. Her gemlike scales were dull and lusterless. And when she spoke to him, there was not a trace of the companionship or love that Eragon had so fondly remembered. Eragon, she spoke into his mind, I waited for you. I survived for you. Two hundred years I've waited. Two hundred years, alone. You might as well have been dead. I waited. But still, you did not come. Eragon attempted to apologize, knowing that no matter what he said, it could never be enough. Tears fell freely and unabashedly. Saphira interrupted him before he even begin to express his lamentations. WHY DIDN'T YOU COME? Saphira roared, both in Eragon's mind and out loud. The pain in her voice and her soul was so real and evident that it made Eragon want to curl up into a ball and weep for her. He didn't, however. He was shocked. After so long apart, he had imagined their reunion as joyous and happy. Never had he imagined that Saphira would reject him and his love. Saphira, please, Eragon began imploringly and desperately, I tried. God knows how hard I tried. Please, words can't even begin to scratch the surface of my regret. I've been lost without you! I need you! I've nearly killed myself hundreds of times in my misery of your absence! Eragon's mental voice grew louder and louder, until he was nearly shouting at Saphira, trying to make her understand how sorry he was. I wish you had killed yourself. Saphira said brusquely, her voice like stone. Eragon could say nothing. He simply gaped at the partner of his mind and soul as she turned away and walked out of the room, where he saw Galbatorix sneer smugly at Eragon as he rested a hand on Saphira's shoulder. *** Eragon gasped and sat straight up, almost banging his head on a low-hanging branch. He was panting as if he had just run across all of Alagaësia and his heart beat was double its normal rate. Eragon stood up and started pacing quickly, trembling like a leaf all the while. He nearly threw up in his panic, and he could not even begin to think about controlling his breathing and heart rate. The calming methods taught to him by the elves flew from his mind. Eragon was unable to think about anything but his terrible nightmare. Without picking up any of his things, Eragon started half-stumbling, half-running, trying to outsprint his terror and horror. Eragon finally stopped at a large rocky structure and sat down. He shivered uncontrollably, though it was not cold, and remained that way for some time. He stared blankly and uncomprehendingly into the void of his misery. He knew not whether he sat in that place for minutes, hours, or days, nor did he care. Eragon could not force himself to think of anything other than his dream. He kept mulling the terrible events over in his mind, and for a few moments, he became oblivious to the truth of his situation and was convinced that the events that had transpired were real. In those moments, it was all he could do to stop from murdering himself. However, no matter how deep his pain, his resolve to live was still unwavering. Eragon cared not how Saphira had received his presence, now his only goal in life was to fix his relationship with her, to make her understand. Then he remembered that the events that had occurred were simply a dream, and his only goal was to be reunited with her, even if he was not accepted. He mulled over new ways to get out of his isolation, but each idea was crazier than the last, and he rejected all of them. Feeling dejected and forlorn, Eragon roused himself from his stupor and looked around. As he sat staring at the massive cliffs in front of him, a memory stirred. He remembered these cliffs. This was the place where he had learned to be a Rider! It was here that he had first discovered how deeply complex the mind was; it was here he had learned the ancient language; it was here he had begun to understand how great his potential truly was. He was at the Cliffs of Teln'rag, the home of his teachers, Oromis and Glaedr. Eragon nearly jumped for joy until he remembered that Oromis and Glaedr were gone. For a second, one glorious second, he had believed otherwise. They had seemed so old and unchangeable when they were alive, just as ancient, wise, and unmovable as the rocks of the Cliffs in which they resided. Eragon had come to believe that they could not be killed. Even now, twenty years after their deaths, Eragon half-expected Oromis to come prowling out of his hut at the base of the Cliffs and berate Eragon for being late. However, it was not so. Eragon walked slowly to the home of his former masters. It looked much the same as his last visit, all those years ago. Eragon went inside the hut, searching for he knew not what. It was clean and orderly, just as Oromis had left it. There was not even any dust, Oromis must have cast spells preventing dusting. Everything looked just as if it was waiting for its master to come home. Eragon ran his fingers over the familiar scrolls, smiling slightly. He pulled one out at random and started reading. It was a poem about the ships in which the elves had sailed to Alagaësia. Silver sails whisper in the morning breeze. All who see are transfixed by their divine shimmering. Eragon only read a few snippets here and there before putting the scroll back in its place and picking up another one. He started to read, and before long realized that the lines and stanzas of the poem were startlingly familiar. It was the poem about the warrior farmer, the poem that Eragon himself had composed. Eragon scanned the lines with an odd feeling of sadness. "It was so long ago," he whispered to himself in a voice that crackled with disused and rumbled from hoarseness born from his night terrors. "I feel so much older now... It was so long. It's been so long..." He repeated the same thoughts aloud over and over again. Thoughts of what had been overflowed into his mind, unbidden. He could not stop the tide of his memories from protruding into his mind and, for once, he did not even attempt to push them down. He remember Saphira in happier times, when they were studying with Oromis and Glaedr. For the first time in twenty years, he did not think of her in the present or future, but thought of her past, their past. He saw Saphira diving low over the landscape and let out a roar of triumphant, joyous flames that reverberated throughout the entire forest. He felt her contented humming as he leaned against her, resting. He remembered the time she had gotten the hiccoughs and almost burst out laughing. He saw her glittering eyes and her brilliant hide sparkling in the sunlight, more beautiful than a thousand gems. But above all, he remembered her love for him. He remembered her feelings in the past, her overwhelming affection for him. Her distant feelings filled his heart and warmed his whole body. Eragon realized that he was both smiling and crying at the same time. A/N: Hi! Sorry about the long wait between chapters! I just couldn't find the inspiration to write(a terrible excuse, I know). Please, please, please review! I really wish to improve my writing so I would be most grateful if you provided me with constructive critiques. And compliments! Compliments are good too! Thanks for reading! (Oh, and sorry about the terrible poetry- that is why I stick to prose) 


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